Rootless
by tottytwoster
Summary: What happened when Richie gets mpreg? Nothing good for this fanfic author's future career. This is a crack fic, but one I'm actually putting some effort into. Geckocest. Rated M for a reason.
1. Chapter 1

It's always weird, coming to terms with the fact that you're fucking your brother. Not really even incest part, but the part where you realize _damn_. _I was delivered from the same vagina as this motherfucker I'm plowing_. That's a weird realization. And it's one that Seth Gecko has on a nearly nightly basis, by now. As his lips drag across the pale skin of his _brother_ 's shoulder, and as his _brother_ wraps his arms around his waist and _groans_ with each of those last few thrusts, he gets that nagging feeling in the back of his mind-the one says _hey, guess what: this guy had to sit in the delivery room with your mom when she was popping you out_. It's like how when you're watching porn and jerking off to some prissy white girl's arm stuck up another prissy white girl's ass. You don't really think about how weird this whole thing is until you're shooting your load into some single-ply tissue paper that _this_ is what gets you going.

Vinegar strokes'll do that to a person.

Richie is talking-if you could even call it talking instead of mumbling, whining, or going full on _King's Speech_ -probably trying to sound sexy with that whole _shove it up my ass_ shit that Seth absolutely can't _stand_. Sure, it's nice when it's coming from the lady across the hall, but she's got tits and a nice voice. Richie just looks like their mom. Nobody wants to look at their mom when they come, so Seth hides his face in the crook of his brother's neck, eyes squeezing tight as he tries his absolute hardest not to get war flashbacks to when the two of them found his birth tape. Richie lets out some weird, strangled moan that sounds like he's trying to say something. Maybe it's an _I love you_ , which _isn't_ so nice from the girl upstairs, but it's acceptable from Richie. Weird, but acceptable. Kinda like when those really fucking hot-absolutely _smoking_ -one night stands calls you daddy when she comes. Sure, it kinda makes you feel weird, but that doesn't mean you don't secretly get just a little more turned on by it.

Seth doesn't even notice the fact that there's some of his brother's stray cum on his stomach (and his fucking lip? Seriously, Richie, how does that happen?) until he's delivered the money shot right up his ass. Then, it's the birth tape moment. It's the _my brother's potential unborn babies are all over the both of us_. It's the **_my_** _potential unborn babies are inside of my brother's asshole_. When he pulls out, he almost shudders. But then again, there's something distinctly and unavoidably attractive about seeing Richie's abs heaving like he's just run a mile. He's sweaty enough for it too. Seth blames pheromones, but if he actually said it, Richie would correct him and only males and females excrete pheromones to each other, because it's a natural mating blah blah blah fucking blah.

As he leans back on his calves, and as Richie keeps doing that sweaty breathing thing, he wipes at his lip. _Seriously_. If Richie was watching he might lick it off, but the guy's too focused on not needing an inhaler that it gives Seth an excuse to wipe it on the sheets. The cleaning lady can deal with it. Seth's never been a big fan of the whole 'swallowing someone else's cum' concept. Or his own, for that matter. He's seen that grody shit-felching? Felching, he thinks it's called. Whatever it's called, it involved licking the cum out of the guy's ass after you've fucked it. That shit? That shit is why America is in the shitter. He is absolutely sure of this.

He's the one to get Richie's glasses for him, even going as far as to put them on for him. Careful, too, not just setting them there. His fingers trace the length of the frame, temples to tips, and then quickly rake through his hair (still wet with pomade, or whatever the fuck Richie puts in his hair every morning), pushing away any strands from his face.

"I'll get a towel." He says, gesturing for his brother to stay right where he is. There's only so much cum you can get on sheets before the maids start refusing to clean it up, and then it's just too goddamn awkward to have to sit there with the manager, explaining that you got so much jizz on the bed sheets that the maid-the woman who does this shit for a _living_ -was too disgusted to clean it up. Better than finding cum socks, if you ask Seth, but beggars are insisting upon being choosers these days. When his tongue idly runs over his lips, he can taste the residual salt. Since Richie is sitting up now (but in that awkward, trying not to let cum drip out of his ass way), he tries not to make a face.

"Thanks, bro." Richie lapses into the colloquialisms quickly, and he either starts breathing like a normal human being or Seth just can't hear it from the tiny bathroom. It's barely big enough for him to take a piss in. There's a damn good reason they did not try shower sex for a second time. The stains won't show up much on the white towels, and besides, they're going to get taken by tomorrow. Maybe it'll go unnoticed.


	2. Chapter 2

When your brother has been leaned over a toilet every day for a week, it's basically just your civic duty to make sure he's not puking up bile. Make sure he's hydrated. Make sure he's getting all the Benadryl he could need for whatever the hell kind of food poisoning he got. At this point, Seth isn't sure if the poor guy's even keeping anything down long enough for it to get into his system. Needless to say, they haven't been fucking this past week. Or the week before. Richard's like a Beverly Hills housewife with his excuses. _I'm too tired, my back hurts, I just don't feel like it, I think I hurt my ankle, we need to focus on this job_. It's fucking bullshit at least half of the time, but Seth isn't going to be one of those pricks that starts at argument over not getting laid enough. They're not some old married couple who needs fucking _viagra_ to have a good night he's not going to start it early.

"Alright, c'mon," It's almost cute, the way Richie's just absolutely surrendered at the toilet bowl. His chin rests against the seat, and the only thing keeping his glasses on when he shifts is Seth's hand. He sits on the carpet (seriously, who carpets their hotel _bathroom_? That's nasty on a new level), one hand securing the glasses while the other lifts his brother's head, allowing them to slide off easily. "You don't need to see how much you're puking." He tries to play it off as a joke. Either Richie doesn't find it funny, or he's just too goddamn worn out to even respond with anything more than an exhale. Seth folds the glasses neatly and sets them at the edge of the counter. It's been like this for days, and by now Seth has learned that, yes, they really do need to keep water bottles under the sink. Day two proved that leaving Richard alone was a _very_ bad idea. It took everything in him not to yell at the guy, something about ' _do you know how fuckin' hard it is to clean burger chunks out of a carpet?'_ even if Richard apologized. But really, it's fucking hard. If Seth had thought that Rich could even make it through a car ride, he would have ditched and left a sorry note for the next cleaning lady to make her rounds. They were only supposed to stay there for a week anyway, and look what happened? It's been almost two, and no doubt they've got some heat coming.

Unscrewing the cap on a fresh bottle, he pushes a few stray hairs out of Richard's closed eyes. The pomade makes his hands feel sticky which is usually why Seth is so against the whole _hair pulling_ deal but it doesn't even cross his mind. He only speaks again when his brother actually responds to the gesture, his eyes opening, head tilting to seem at least slightly _alive_. "If you don't drink anything you'll be dead in a few days, and we already got enough trouble with the cops on our ass." Halfway through the sentence, Richard makes the biggest physical effort Seth has seen all day. He actually sits up, even if it's just for a few seconds, and leans against the wall, making himself comfortable. No matter how much you clean a toilet, you still know that you're _leaning over a goddamn shitter_ when you're puking.

"Had enough shit fumes for one day?" Again, he tries to make it a joke. This time, Richie actually bothers to look at him, one corner of his mouth pulling up into a small smile. Seth matches it, once again reaching out to get the product-covered hair out of his face. Goddamn the guy needs a haircut. Three times in a minute, he's had to fix his grease-coated hair for him. That's enough to tempt Seth to get out the scissors himself.

"Yeah, I got enough from you sitting that close to me."

" _Hilarious_." He hands the bottle over, cap still in hand. Sarcastic as his tone may sound, it's a damn good sign. Maybe he won't have to sleep in the tub for another night, making sure his brother doesn't pull a fucking Jimi Hendrix on him. Except at least Hendrix died after doing what he loved: A night of binge drinking, drug taking, and probably orgies. Definitely orgies, considering the time period. Richie? Richie had even turned down one of the few (the proud, the brave) 'cheer up' blowjobs that Seth offered. It ain't often that he lets someone stick their dick in his mouth, and to turn it down? Well shit, that had to mean something was very wrong. "If you're good enough to make shitty jokes, you can drink your own goddamn water."


End file.
